


Tales Untold

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Death Mechanics, During Canon, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Post-Relationship, Spoilers, abusive environment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: Collection of Hades ficlets set during the course of the game. Same collection as before, new title and summary. Still alotof Zagaera weird ex dynamics, but branching out a bit!





	1. Chapter 1

As usual, he finds Meg in the lounging area, drinking before she has to leave again. Shots this time, it seems, which probably isn’t a great sign. She senses his approach before he greets her and turns scornful eyes his way.

“What the hell did you have on your arrows that time?” she demands, her voice cold. “I didn’t like it.”

He gives the question serious thought as he slides, uninvited but unforbidden, into the chair next to her. It does require serious thought to answer: each attempt bleeds into the one before it and the one after, an indistinct jumble of violence and pain and daring cut abruptly short each time by failure. Sometimes he can’t even remember which weapon he has on him at a given moment. Arrows, Meg had said, which means Coronacht, and the latest boon granted him when he had Coronacht in hand was—

He winces. “That would be the blessings of Aphrodite,” he says wryly. “She was… _attentive_ that time.” He keeps to himself the thought of the goddess’s syrupy voice and her flirtatious eagerness for him to reach the surface. And good thing, too, because Meg is looking at him in utter disgust, as she might look at some larval creature from the bowels of the earth. 

She’s too serious by far, and he can’t resist teasing when she looks like that. “I guess it was her interference, not her son’s, that we should have been watching out for this whole time,” he says, remembering a conversation from long ago, before they’d figured out how to be fond of each other. 

In an ideal world, she would appreciate the reference and smile along with him. No luck there, but he hits some kind of mark, at least. Without a word, Meg turns her withering glare from him to the shade tending the bar. The shade catches her meaning and hurriedly serves her another shot, which she tosses back silently. Only then does she look back at Zagreus. She catches his chin between thumb and forefinger, inescapably, and speaks.

“It would pain Nyx to no end if I drove the butt of my whip up through this soft flesh beneath your jaw and into your stupid little brain,” she says, slowly and very clearly.  

He swallows. “You’re right, I imagine it would,” he agrees, affable. It would pain him, too, in a rather more immediate sense, but that has less bearing on whether or not Meg would do it. Jealousy is, after all, her domain. Professionally speaking. It radiates from her, as possessive and entrancing as a serpent, never mind the many reasons they don’t belong to each other anymore. 

She releases his chin. “Consider yourself lucky,” she says.

“I’ll do that. Although I suspect my luck will run out before we see each other next?”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it,” Meg hisses. She glares until he takes the hint to stand. He wonders how she’d react if he told her—honestly, sincerely—that the goddess of love could never mean to him what Megaera did and still does. Circumstances and the supernatural power to attract be damned.

She narrows her eyes as if she suspects his thought. “Get out,” she orders.

“All right.” He lifts his hand in a good-bye. “See you around, Meg.”

“Unfortunately.”

With a gracious little bow, he cedes the parting shot to her this time and leaves her be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone tell Zag that Aphrodite and the Furies are kinda related before he puts his foot in--oh, too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Lad, all this generosity, I... don't want you to get the wrong idea. I am alone, yes, but my heart belongs to another. Ever since I was alive. I hope you understand."_
> 
> _"I... somehow knew that was the case, Achilles. I wanted you to have this anyway, just... don't drown your sorrows, as they seem to make you stronger."_

Zagreus comes into the lounge, but apparently not to bother Megaera this time; he orders a drink from the bartender and then flops down at a table one over from hers. He slumps forward, head on the table and arms hanging pathetically towards the floor, and mumbles a thank you as the shade serves him his drink. He does not immediately sit up to drink it. Instead Megaera takes the opportunity to eye him without notice. What’s _with_ him? This is out of the ordinary, and yet despite his posture she doesn’t get the feeling that he’s despairing. Something else is troubling him.

Finally he sighs and pushes himself up to a seated position, and Megaera realizes what she’s seeing. The line at the corner of his mouth, the way he tries to duck his head into his shoulders—he’s _mortified_.

His eyes slide over to her as he lowers his drink, and he catches her looking. He sends her a pained smile, his whole body tensed. “Just got turned down by Achilles,” he offers, voice strained in an attempt to sound casual.

A flush blooms on his face as he says it, and Megaera stifles the instinct to snort. “I didn’t ask,” she points out, but he did catch her in her curiosity and anyway she supposes they’re talking now. She allows one eyebrow to quirk in his direction. “He was nice about it?”

“Oh, horribly so, just, as nice as you could possibly imagine.” He goes to take another sip of his drink, thinks better of it, and puts his head back down instead. “Gods,” he mumbles pitifully.

Some out-of-date part of Megaera twinges in wry sympathy. Zagreus has had a doomed crush on the hero’s shade for longer than she’s known him and has never done a particularly good job of concealing it. Achilles has known, she thinks; but until now he’s politely looked the other way, to spare the prince the embarrassment of explicit rejection. “Did you ask him directly?” she presses, her voice arch. He’s only himself to blame if he’s gotten _that_ bold.

“No. No, I just… I’ve been bringing him ambrosia, too, and he just wanted to… clarify.” Zagreus curls his arms over his head, and they muffle his voice. “I wasn’t trying to hit on him, not really.”

The honey-gold bottles lined up back in Megaera’s room, her own souvenirs from Zagreus’s crusade, make her doubt that claim. But he’s been bringing them to Nyx as well, she supposes, so maybe they _are_ only tokens of goodwill, of his invasive sincerity, rather than flirtations. Or maybe he just doesn’t draw the distinction particularly well. Has he ever? Zagreus cares about people, deeply and easily. Recklessly. It makes him vulnerable, and before, Megaera had never been sure whether her niggling irritation towards the tendency had been a jealous one or simply a desire to protect him from the repercussions that are bound to catch up with him someday. She’s still not sure now, though jealousy shouldn’t be her business anymore. Not with him. _None_ of this should be her business anymore.

But he turns his head between his arms to look at her with one eye—the green one—and she isn’t able to disengage like she knows she should. “I hope he’s OK,” he says, with genuine anxiety in his voice. “I’ve never wanted this to… interrupt anything. To make things awkward for him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Megaera answers, trying at least to find some distance. “You’re the one who has to try to stifle your little crush, now.”

Zagreus snorts. “Oh, I can’t do that. I’ve never been able to—”

But he realizes what he’s saying and breaks eye contact then, burying his head in his arms once more. Megaera looks to her own drink and doesn’t make him finish his sentence. It’s obvious, anyway, what he’d been about to confess, and it’s been obvious this whole time without the confession. The gifts of ambrosia only make it more explicit. Or—not the gifts themselves, but the way he looks at her when he offers them. The helpless, drowning desire in his eyes. She doesn’t think he can help it. He is boiling over with _want_ , his longing for connection as unrestrained as an injured child’s.

She’s not surprised, then, that Achilles had felt it necessary to clarify where he stands in all of this. Really, Zagreus has only himself to blame. That’s always been true.

She gets to her feet. “I’m headed out, Zag,” she says. He nods without lifting his head. “You’d better not be drunk when you come by.”

“No, I know better.” He turns that one green eye to her again, and it’s shining at her just the way it always used to. He really can’t help himself, the sentimental little bastard. “See you around, Meg. Thanks for listening.”

“You didn’t exactly ask first,” she retorts, but she says it without animosity.

His eye crinkles with what’s probably a smile. “Thank you, anyway.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Murder Death Kill update in this one; additionally, there's a brief, glossed-over mention of sexual assault as it pertains to the parts of Sisyphus's backstory that he hasn't elected to tell Zagreus yet.

Megaera is pacing. She doesn’t like to pace, but it alleviates the boredom and the aggravation and the insipid suspense all at once, so until Zagreus shows up this time, that’s what she’s doing. _If_ he shows up here this time. But now Lord Hades has called Tisiphone and Alecto in, because no matter how hard Megaera tries she can’t seem to knock any sense into Zagreus (what else is new?) and the idiot _needs_ to be stopped. So, he’s going to meet her sisters at last. That’ll show him for his curiosity and his stupid crusade.

The meeting with Hades had been unpleasant. Megaera knows better than to take Alecto’s contempt personally—had known better than to respond to her youngest sister’s mocking laughter as he’d explained the situation. She knows better, but the fact that she just can’t seem to rise to competency in this task still galls her. Humiliation and self-disgust boil together in her stomach, and so she paces.

She’d tried, on her way here, to let off a little steam against Sisyphus. He’d been halfway up the hill anyway. A few strategic lashes had him stumbling, and then all it took was a little push to send his pet rock tumbling down over him, crushing him to death on its way back to the bottom. Megaera verified that his mangled corpse wasn’t breathing and then snapped her fingers. At the foot of the hill, the sigil that bound him to Tartarus began to glow. Sisyphus reappeared, blithely cracking the muscles in his neck, and Megaera shoved the butt of her whip up under his jaw.

“You’ve been telling the Prince sob stories,” she accused the shade. “He came home and tried to tell me I’m too hard on you.”

“Ah.” Sisyphus swallowed, his smile shifting from optimistic to humbly polite. “Forgive me, kindly one, I may have bragged a little the last time he came through.”

“Bragged?” Megaera laughed. “But wrapping those chains around Thanatos was hardly your proudest moment. Don’t you want to tell Zagreus about the rest of it? About Tyro, and your dear, sweet children?”

Then his smile was gone entirely. “To be honest, I’d prefer not to,” he confessed, vulnerability in his face.

She held his eyes with hers for a long moment, tormenting him with his own discomfort until he swallowed again.

“What do you want from me, Mistress?” he asked. What would convince her to keep the rest of his crimes to herself, he meant.

She removed the butt of her whip from beneath his jaw and gestured with it towards his boulder. “Back to work,” she ordered. “And stop socializing with the Prince, or I’ll make sure he loses interest in friendship with a worm like you.”

It was one of the more inane threats she’d ever made, but it seemed to do the trick. Sisyphus bowed deeply and then cracked his knuckles. “Understood,” he said, and obediently turned his attentions to his boulder once more, muscles straining as he began his slow ascent. Megaera watched him struggle for a moment, and then moved on.

She has no faith, frankly, that he will do anything differently the next time Zagreus wanders through. For all she knows, they might be chatting right now, Sisyphus regaling Zag with the bit about the coin and utterly forgetting to mention that time he raped his niece so that her children would dispose of his brother. He doesn’t deserve mercy. Zagreus is naïve and ignorant to think that he does.

He’s naïve and ignorant in a lot of ways, each more infuriating than the last. If—or when, she supposes—he runs into her sisters, she’s certain that he’ll greet them very prettily and cordially, even if context should make it clear that they’re there to kill him. Either of them will quickly disabuse him of the notion that friendship might be possible. The thought makes Megaera grind her teeth without knowing why. Jealousy, she supposes—her natural vice, a sharp territorial urge tainted with fondness. Alecto is just eager to do violence, and Tis is Tis; neither of them will bother to understand Zag’s crusade, not why it’s important to him and not why it must necessarily be thwarted. Megaera thinks he deserves better than that. It’s not a rational belief, but she forfeited her ability to be fully rational about him long ago. Stupid of her, really. But what’s done is done.

Megaera looks towards the door to her hall, which remains resolutely shut. It’s been a while; has he run into one of the others? She closes her eyes and strains her ears, trying to pick up some clue of what’s going on in the rest of Tartarus. Will he hesitate to kill her sisters? Because they’re _her_ sisters, or because he wants so desperately to be everyone’s friend and with them he doesn’t have a shared history, a growling half-matched frustration that sublimates into barbed but familiar antagonism? If he hesitates, he’s dead. And if one of them manages to kill him, Megaera supposes, then Hades is right to give up on her.

As she wrestles with that thought, though, she hears a distant scream of a familiar timbre. Alecto. The sound resolves into one of wrath and aggravation, and then Megaera hears — _stupid redblood piece of TRASH thinks he can just saunter in here and kill me, aaAARGH—_

Turning her attention towards the sound—towards Alecto’s hall—Megaera raises her eyebrows in curiosity. (Maybe, very slightly, in amusement.) So, it’s Alecto he met with. And the battle went in his favor.

Her sister rages on. _I’m going to paint the walls with his blood the next time he gets here, I’m going to ENJOY it, I’m going to have fun with this damn assignment even if it IS all your fault, Meg, and YOUR BOYFRIEND CAN GO TO HELL!_

And with that, shouted loud enough for all of Tartarus to hear, Alecto quiets. Megaera finds herself smirking; finds herself picturing, unkindly, Alecto with Coronacht’s arrows through her throat or spitted on Varatha’s business end. She imagines what Alecto’s enraged smile will look like, rather than her cocky one.

“He’s my ex,” she corrects her absent sister, and settles in for a longer wait than what she’s used to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Aphrodite-Artemis duo boon conversation, most likely.

“ _So_!”

Aphrodite rounds on Artemis as soon as Zagreus turns back to his eternal task. Artemis makes her face stony and forbidding, but that won’t stop the goddess of love when she’s got that steely sparkle in her eye.

“You and _Zagreus_ , sweetheart? I love it, absolutely love it!”

“You have the wrong idea.”

“If there’s _anything_  I can do to help out, you just let me know, won’t you? He’s just perfect for—”

“ _Aphrodite_.” Artemis raises her voice. “I’m not interested in Zagreus that way. You’re mistaken.”

But Aphrodite sends her an indulgent smirk. “I’m _never_  mistaken in matters of love, sweetheart.”

Artemis rolls her eyes to the heaven and turns away. She can think of several rather significant mistakes Aphrodite has made in that domain, but try telling her that. Easier to just ignore her.

Although even that takes some doing. Artemis tries to leave, but Aphrodite follows, catching her arm. “Artemis. Sweetheart,” she wheedles. “You _do_ know you don’t have to be alone, don’t you? We all wish you’d spend a little more time with us. But I understand. Poseidon’s a boor, and Zeus…” Whatever she’d meant to say, she rephrases it as Artemis tenses. “Well, he certainly is in charge, isn’t he? And the little godling is as good a prospect as any to get them off your back—”

“Would _you_ get off my back?” Artemis snaps. Aphrodite falls silent, her eyes wide in feigned injury. “I’m not interested in Zagreus. Not in the way you think. I just don’t want him to feel so alone.” 

She wants to be his friend. And everyone else thinks they’ve achieved that already and don’t seem to care that the Underworld’s darkness means none of them have ever heard a word Zagreus has said. Artemis is left behind, again. It isn’t fair. So the last thing she needs is for the other goddesses to step in and foul things up for her. 

“Just leave me be,” she says. “I won’t interfere with your messages to him, so don’t interfere with mine.” 

Aphrodite pouts. But she releases Artemis’s arm. “Very well,” she says. “I still believe the two of you would be just adorable together, but you know I can’t _help_ thinking that, hm? If ever you change your mind, you just let me know, and I’ll send Eros out to greet him as soon as he gets here.” 

“I’ll shoot your son in the heart before he can even nock an arrow,” Artemis retorts.

Aphrodite receives the (entirely sincere) threat with an indulgent smile. “There’s the Artemis we all know and love. Until next time, darling.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BBU update spoilers in here.   
> also, unless I specifically say so, there are no "ongoing underworld renovations" in my fics. So this is... this is pretty momentous.

Hypnos starts awake at the smell of ash, ready as usual to welcome Zagreus home with his (not technically) brotherly advice. But as he glances down at his list, his heart jumps into his throat. OK. There’s no way that’s right, that’s got to be some kind of mistake like the redacteds are—

He raises his eyes just in time to see Lord Hades himself stalk past, blood still dripping from the corner of his robe. Hypnos swallows. It doesn’t change how dry his throat is. 

“Um, welcome back… sir?” he says. His chipper tone falters, and the look Hades sends his way might’ve killed a mortal on the spot. Maybe even a dryad. Hypnos feels a little faint himself.  He glances back down at his list, confirming what he’d read, and then looks back up at the Master of the House. Hades’ dark eyes dare him to say something. “Hardly even noticed you were gone?” Hypnos tries, but there’s a stutter in his voice and a question mark rather than an exclamation point at the end of the sentence. He can’t quite seem to manage his usual welcoming grin.

Hades holds out one hand. “The list,” he growls, and Hypnos meekly hands it over. With a rough movement, Hades seizes the parchment and tears his name off the bottom. He shoves the list back towards Hypnos, who takes it back just as meekly. He got part of the entry above his too. Probably better not to mention that. 

Hades returns to his throne, and for once in his life, Hypnos doesn’t feel sleepy at all. 

*

He’s still shaking a little by the time Thanatos stops by the House again, face ashen and eyes unfocused with… stress, maybe? Hypnos has seen him tired before, but never like this. He tries to march right past Hypnos without making eye contact. But Hypnos really needs to talk to someone right now, and Than  _is_ his brother, right? 

“Hey, um, Than—”

“ _What_?” 

Hypnos isn’t stupid, actually, he can hear the annoyance in Than’s voice pretty clearly. It’s just that if he let on, he’d never get to spend time with his brother at all. “You’re looking pretty tired, why don’t you sit with me for a little bit, how does that sound?” 

“Hypnos, I have to—”

“It’s just,” Hypnos continues, his voice a little rushed, “it seems like the Master is in a pretty bad mood right now, and it’s not with  _you_ , right? So I figure you shouldn’t have to go get yelled at for it. That’s all.” 

Thanatos grimaces, but he does pause, and a moment later he turns and leans against the wall behind Hypnos with a huff. Hypnos takes another look at him. Yeah, he does look  _really_ tired. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking about, though, and Hypnos isn’t sure he should ask. So the two of them stand there in silence, in something approaching companionship. Hypnos taps his own chin with the feather end of his quill, feeling the way it tickles him as he continues to tremble. 

“Hey, Than?” he says, quiet as he can manage. Than glares at him, waiting for him to continue, and he’s not sure what to say.  _So, I figured out what the redacteds were_ or _How long has that been going on, the two of them actually trying to_ or _I don’t think he’s coming back this time_. But all of that seems bigger than the feeling actually clamped around his heart, seems distant from it. It’s really just as simple as, “Things are getting kind of weird around here.”

Than’s face is incredulous. “ _Getting_ weird? Are you seriously just noticing this now?  _Now_?” 

“Well, no, it’s just… I don’t know.” 

“After everything that’s been going on,  _now_ is when you pick up on it? And you think  _weird_ covers it? Hypnos, do you ever actually  _think_ or do you just stand there sleeping until someone walks past and you actually have to do your job for a second—”

“I mean, my job itself’s been weird! Than, earlier, you’ll never believe who—”

“ _Hypnos_!” Thanatos interrupts in a hiss.

Hypnos falls silent. Oh, Thanatos knows already. So he must know what happened, and that’s why he’s sad, and he probably doesn’t really have time or energy to reassure Hypnos that everything’s going to be OK. Maybe things aren’t going to be OK, actually. Maybe Zagreus was smart, getting out and leaving all of this behind, but what are all the rest of them supposed to do?

Hypnos sighs. “You have to admit,” he says, scuffing one toe against the ground as Thanatos glares at him, “it really _is_ pretty weird.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRANKLY Hades probably has a VIP entrance. However. The image of Hypnos stumbling over his words as he realized what happened was just too clear in my mind to not write.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a fun little break! back to zagaera.

His chambers are a mess. Megaera nearly trips over a discarded tunic in the entryway and exhales sharply in irritation. The rest is no better; the center of the room is clear enough but all sorts of detritus is shoved along the walls, in the corners. The space in front of the bookshelf is piled high with books that Zagreus had likely read a few pages of, set aside, and forgotten.

She shouldn’t take the mess personally, but she does. He had kept the place neater when she was a regular visitor (or a co-inhabitant—however one wanted to look at it). She’d known, of course, that his tidiness was a reaction to her sour judgment rather than a genuine desire to be cleaner, but still, she would have liked to think that he’d learned _something_  from the experience. How has he let it get this bad again? And how does he ever find anything?

Of course the answer is that right now, he doesn’t. To Megaera’s understanding, he spends no time in his chambers these days, only visiting briefly with the House’s inhabitants before setting out again on his mad quest. If he tarries here, it must be only to fiddle with the mirror on the far wall, or to adjust the pact of punishment on his desk. Megaera sends a casual glance towards the door before walking over to take a look at the pact. It’s covered in corrections and rewritten text, passages scribbled out and then some of those circled to indicate that they should be kept after all. In the upper-right corner is a series of calculations. At the bottom, Zagreus’s messy signature. It’s not dated. But she suspects that he has even less idea what day it is than anyone else down here. Truth be told, she’s beginning to lose track, too.

And that’s not a thought she particularly wants to dwell on, so she turns away from the desk and looks once more around the room. There are other changes. That painted scroll of Aphrodite—there’s no way that Zagreus found it in the House. Megaera is surprised he got it past Lord Hades at all. Drawn by some flattering mortal hand, it surveys the room flirtatiously from a spot near the prince’s bed. Nearer than the scroll of Achilles, even, and Megaera knows how Zagreus feels about _him_. Of course he would have this, she thinks, and shapes a flare of lashing anger into scorn, its much more comfortable kin. 

Beneath the scroll, there’s a serene basin of water. Megaera can feel the enchantment that makes it a scrying pool. She sends another glance towards the door—she only meant to find what things she’d left behind in his room, and he’ll be back through eventually—but there’s no sign of him yet, so she turns her gaze to the water’s surface instead. For a moment, it only reflects her face. Then a ripple passes over the water and she sees, instead, her latest battle with Zagreus. Not really what she wants to recall. But she can’t look away. It’s not that she’s fighting poorly. She’s battling to the limits of her ability, and her attacks are reaching him, but with Poseidon and Zeus both fawning over him, she just can’t deal damage quickly enough. And the knowledge is written all over her face in reckless, desperate determination. As for Zagreus—he’s barely looking at her at all. His thoughts are already focused on Asphodel and beyond. 

Megaera turns away sharply.

She’s here for her things, nothing more. 

She’s here for her things, because Zag may have practiced his break-up speech beforehand, thinking her heart would need delicate handling, but it’s never once occurred to him to gather her possessions and return them. Not then, and not in the time that followed, and not now that he’s decided to move out in the most destructive way possible. She drops to her knees and feels around under his bed. The ropes she pulls out are moth-eaten, and the shackles draped with cobwebs. She kicks the ropes back under the bed with a noise of exasperation. Other than that, she’d left some clothes here. But of course they’re not near the top of the trunk at the end of his bed; she has to dig through it, all the way to the bottom, to find the dress she’s been missing and a bracelet she’d nearly forgotten about. She closes the bracelet around her wrist, letting the gold glitter in the candlelight. Then it’s back to rooting around—

Until she hears footsteps behind her that stop abruptly. “Um, Meg—?”

The prince is back home, yet again. Megaera sniffs, as dismissive as though he were the intruder rather than she, and stands to face him. She arches one eyebrow in a challenge. But she almost loses her scorn as she sees his face. He’s rattled, desperately so. And that was the point, if she’s honest—how does _he_  like having his space invaded?—but she’s forgotten, in all of this, just how graspingly visible his vulnerability can be. 

“Meg, oh, I was not expecting company—” His eyes flick around the room and he flushes at its messy state; he sees what she’s dug out from under the bed and flushes deeper. “Were you just, casually snooping, or is there something I can help you with?”

“I was just leaving, Zagreus.” It’s close enough to the truth. She’s found everything she knows she’s missing, at least. So she stuffs it all into the bag she’s brought while she continues to speak. “Happened to be in the area, no thanks to you, and thought I’d go retrieve the last of my possessions.”

“Oh,” Zagreus says ineloquently. He hovers in the doorway. “Can I help with—”

“No.” Her curt tone is an arrowhead, and she doesn’t need to look to know that it’s struck its mark. She slings her bag over her shoulder. “I have to say,” she sneers as Zagreus steps aside to let her pass, “you’ve _really_  let this place go to hell.” 

A glance at his face affirms that he looks properly chastened at that, and then she leaves him behind her. 

It’s a victory, at least.

(A sour and petty one, but at this point she’s stuck with what she can get.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> started this with the hope of trying to pin down what _exactly_ Meg was thinking behind this canon interaction (which was a gift to me personally), but I'm not sure I achieved that beyond a sense of [ half-feral with pain ]. Which I knew already, frankly.
> 
> 10/08, superstar day: ok well, of all the things I write that could be potentially jossed, I was not expecting "there is no fucking way Hades wants posters of the olympians sold in his own dang house" to go first, but rip to me I guess. I guess the new location of the pact kinda borks this one up all over the place, too. Oh well.


End file.
